


The Ghosts We Run From

by olivemartini



Series: the heavy hearts we hold together [5]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 17:24:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11559891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivemartini/pseuds/olivemartini
Summary: She flinches.And it shouldn't have been a thing, shouldn't have been noticeable, except that she's in a room consisting entirely of BAU members and now they're all looking at her like it was the worst thing they'd ever seen.





	The Ghosts We Run From

**Author's Note:**

> mentions of past abusive relationship, non graphic  
> (like no mention of the actual abuse)

She flinches.

It shouldn't have happened, shouldn't have meant anything, because all Morgan was doing was reaching out to ruffle her hair like he does every day, because she's the substitute Garcia and that means dealing with things like that.  Except she didn't see it this time, because she was busy talking to JJ when he came up behind her, and there was just this hand moving towards her face, like it was going to hit her, like a man she doesn't know was trying to take a swing at her.

So she moves back, and her arm comes up, and Morgan freezes with his hand in the air.  And Reid lets his files fall to his desk with a decisive little thump while letting out a pained noise, and Rossi and Hotch stop in the middle of their conversation to stare at her.  It's like a spotlight has been turned on her, hot and uncomfortable, and it's only JJ leaning forward to put her hand on Beatrice's leg that lets her fight the urge to flee.  "Hey."  Her voice is calm, and it's the voice she must use to calm down victims when she drags them out of whatever hell they had found themselves in.  Or maybe it's the voice she uses on Henry when he wakes up to a nightmare she knows she can't protect him from.  "You okay?"

Beatrice isn't okay, because there was a hand and she flinched and it wasn't really a conscious choice, and now she's remembering all the other times there was a hand and the flinch wasn't enough to stop it from coming.  "Yeah."  Her voice comes out short and angry and clearly  _not okay,_ but she shakes the hand off anyways and forces herself to take the coffee Morgan had brought her.  "I'm fine."

 

 

No one mentions it.

She can see that they want to, but the team also has this unspoken rule that they won't profile each other, even if it's such an obvious conclusion that anyone could figure it out.  They treat her a bit differently, like she somehow turned into a being made of glass overnight and any wrong move might make her crack and crumble, but that's better then one of them deciding that maybe they should push her until she breaks enough to tell the truth.  

Morgan doesn't reach out to touch her anymore.  Hotch and Rossi watch her when they think she isn't looking.  JJ's voice is softer and more comforting, like she's letting her know that it's okay for her to come talk to her but doesn't want to say it out loud.  And Reid?  Reid looks like he's trying to forget about what he noticed but can't get over it, so now he looks at her like she's the saddest thing he's ever seen.

 

 

"Is there something you want to talk about?"  Beatrice had been expecting a new case to go over when she walked into Hotch's office, not to have him looking at a picture of his dead wife and offer her a cookie that he must have ran out to get especially for her.  She's not one of his agents, really, so maybe that's why he's being all nice and gentle instead of demanding that she tell him what went wrong.  Or maybe he just doesn't like the idea of girls who flinch when someone moves when they aren't expecting it.  "Because if there's a problem, we can help you."

"There's no problem."  She doesn't eat the cookie, but she does take it, lets it sit in her hand and the heat of her skin make the sprinkles melt until it stains her hand with a pastel rainbow.  Beatrice looks at him, lets him no that she's serious.  "Not anymore."

He nods, once, twice, and stares at like she's one of his unsubs and he's trying to figure out if she's telling the truth.  She passes the test, because then he stands and opens the door, shoving a second cookie into her hand.  "Good.  Because if there was,"  He pauses, looks like he wants to reach out and hug her but thinks better of it.  "We would have it taken care of."

 

 

The word seems to spread, and things go back to normal.

Rossi stops watching her, even if he does still seem to be around more, talking in that soothing voice of his and offering his little pieces of wisdom when she doesn't really need it.

JJ doesn't mention it again, but she does give her a hug and a smile and a whispered promise that they all have  _stuff_ here, that they're all working through things, and no one thinks less of her for it.

Morgan comes to her/Garcia's office one night with an apology on her lips, and a promise to never invade her space again, and the two of them have a conversation that goes something like  _don't be stupid, it doesn't bother me, it was a bad day_ and  _I get that, but if it makes you uncomfortable_ and  _being looked at like I'm broken makes me uncomfortable_ and  _the next time someone hurts you, I'll shoot him._ It's an oddly comforting talk.

Only Reid doesn't seem to want to talk about it, and they go back to dinners at his house and coffee together in the morning and team bonding without missing a beat, except for the fact that she still sometimes catches him looking at her with that look on his face.

 

 

"When my sister found out, she sent me a bunch of poetry books geared toward female empowerment."

It wasn't exactly how she had planned on bringing it up, except for the fact that she thought she should be honest with him.  She likes Spencer too much to think that he's going to run away when she admits to the things she'd done and the things she'd put up with because she mistook it for love.  And if he is the kind of man that runs from that, she'd rather find out now.  

Spencer looked up from the book he was reading and studied her.  "Did it help?"

Beatrice snorted into her coffee.  "No.  They were good, but not what I needed when I was trying to talk myself out of crawling back to him every night."  She pushed her dinner away, stomach tightening like it always does when she thought of how it used to be.  "It was after they all died, he was just someone that didn't know me from  _before,_ who wasn't telling me to get help and to talk to someone and who didn't act all betrayed when I quit the FBI in hopes of finding something close to normal.  And I thought it was a good thing, to have him there.  Until it wasn't.  And when I realized it wasn't, I still stayed, and after I left, I wasted  _months_ talking myself out of the idea of that maybe, if I tried harder, he wouldn't hit me again like he did every night.  And how stupid is that, to go back to something that just hurts you in the end?"

He's quiet, and he's staring at her across the room.  Spencer also still has that look on his face, the one that makes her think that he's really sad about what happened and wants to change it but doesn't know how.  

"I was addicted to dilaudid for a long time.  It's not the same thing, but I get the feeling, needing something bad to crawl back to."  

She sighs and throws the rest of her coffee down the sink, crossing her arms and leaning back against the counter as she watched him.  He didn't seem to be interested in saying anything else, and that was good, because she didn't have the energy in her to deal with more.

 _So many ghosts,_ she thinks, and wonders how on earth they're ever going to manage to get rid of them.  

 

 

"He shouldn't have hit you."  This, bursting out of him while he's standing in the doorway of her apartment, just about to leave.  He's loaded down with books and case files and paperwork  that he likes to do on her couch instead of at his desk, and the confused look on his face is back, but at the moment it seems like they were finally going to put this thing behind them.  "I mean, no one deserves to be hit, but especially not," He falters, stares, then picks up again. "Especially not you."

"I kept letting him."  She whispers.  "I thought he loved me."

"That's not love."  She knows this, but it's nice to finally talk about this with someone who wasn't telling her that maybe she should have been stronger, or shoving feminist tirades down her throat, or saying that maybe she should get a restraining order and be done with it.  It's nice to have someone who was just willing to understand.  "And I know you know that, but he didn't love you like he should have."

Beatrice had told him to turn the lights off while he was leaving so she could fall asleep on the couch when her show is over, so she can't see him the darkness.  It makes it easier to talk.  "What if that's the closest thing I'm ever going to get?"

"It's not."  His voice is thin and pleading and hurt, like it was just as awful for him to hear as it was for her to say.  "You'll meet someone some day, and they'll love you, and you'll never have to worry about them hurting you.  Because they'll see what I see, and know that you're too good for them to ever risk screwing it up."

 

 

She didn't have anything to say after that, other than a few more meaningless words whispered in the dark, so he leaves, shutting the door with a soft click.  Beatrice intends to just fall asleep, but then she forces herself to her feet and makes her way to the door, checking the lock and then moving to look into all the closet doors.

 _Just in case,_ she tells herself, and texts Reid good night instead of a thank you.


End file.
